Our Little Lives
by Lady Aoi
Summary: Most people find Palmer's run-in with a truck funny. Heidegger isn't one of them. WARNINGS: unpopular pairing, Heidegger angst, possible OOCness, mild shounen-ai. COMPLETE!


Our Little Lives

A FFVII Fan Fiction

By

Lady Aoi

Summary: Most people find Palmer's run-in with a truck funny. Heidegger isn't one of them.

Rating: PG-13 for shounen-ai and bad language.

Pairings: Heidegger/Palmer. Yes, I know!! Just read it. It's not gross.

Disclaimer: Tseng, Heidegger and Palmer don't belong to me. They belong to Square Soft. Square Soft also owns the truck. 

Lady Aoi's Notes: WARNING: Heidegger angst is nigh on impossible to write, and as such this fic may seem very OOC for both Heidegger and Palmer. I'm truly sorry if it is, but I wanted to give them both an entirely serious story, and I couldn't think of a better way to go about it. I couldn't get back to sleep after the fire alarm threw me out of my apartment for half an hour at five a.m. a few months ago, so I got the idea to write up a little story about Heidegger's reaction to "the truck incident". I was interested in examining this part in the game from another angle, even though I know the scene was intended to be comedic. School and work interfered, however, and I wasn't able to get back to it until tonight, when I wanted to write a Heidegger vignette and found no sound ideas for one. Enjoy!

~*~

            Heidegger had forgotten how to breathe. He could think of no other plausible explanation as he clutched the receiver. The person on the other end had stopped speaking. Heidegger wasn't sure when that had happened. He wondered if he'd just suffered a heart attack.

            "Sir," Tseng gently prompted. "I believe the person on the other end hung up awhile ago."

            Heidegger simply stared at Tseng and struggled to make sense of his words. He didn't quite succeed, but his hand was beginning to hurt. So he sat the receiver down and leaned his forehead into his palms. His mahogany desk stared up at him along with the half-written letter. It was a memo addressed to Scarlet, and it was now saturated by a puddle of blue ink. Perhaps the broken pen at his elbow was responsible. Either way, he'd have to re-write it.

            The Turk replaced the receiver in its cradle. "If I can do anything for you, sir…" he soothed.

            "They said it was an accident," Heidegger's voice sounded hollow and distant. He wondered if it still belonged to him. "He was trying to get away when the truck just…" Several moments later, he found the strength to continue. "They only told me he was sleeping. That's it. Lot of things sleeping can mean, Tseng." He slid his hand over his brow and wondered vaguely at the sweat. The room suddenly felt very cold.

            "Sir, let me get your coat." Heidegger didn't reply as Tseng gently slid the heavy wool garment around his shoulders. His hands were desperate enough for work, though, and made short work of the buttons as Heidegger continued to study the ruined letter. When he next addressed Tseng the fury which shook his voice reminded him of a tempest in a theatre. His words rattled like tin in his ears.

            "Tseng…you are going to find him. Them. The people or person that was driving that truck. Then you're gonna bring them to me."

            "I take it I won't be allowed the pleasure of breaking the perpetrator's kneecaps today." This was intended as a joke, if Tseng's faint smile meant anything. But Heidegger wasn't laughing. Indeed, could not laugh.

            "Yeah, that's right," Heidegger said quietly. He clenched and unclenched his fist slowly in an attempt to feel it again. He hoped he looked more dangerous than he felt. Currently he felt more like a saturated sponge than a general, and what threat could a sponge be to anyone? "You're gonna have to bring them here 'cause…I wanna see the look on their face when I punch it in. And I wanna hear them scream when I throw them through the window." He gestured limply to the wall of glass on his right. Angry words, yes. But if Heidegger was a lion when angered, he did not roar these words. His lack of anger terrified him almost more than the silence or the gnawing feeling at the base of his brain. His fear ran so deep he could almost feel it pushing through the stern-lipped mask he typically wore. Ashamed and spent, he turned his gaze back to the ruined letter on the desk. He didn't look up even when Tseng rose from his chair.

            "Permission to speak freely, sir." Heidegger nodded his consent. "Central Midgar Hospital is at least a twenty-minute drive from the tower. And with all due respect, sir, I don't think you're in any condition to make that drive."

            "I'm not a child, Tseng," Heidegger growled, thankful for the edge on his voice. Anything was better than this damned numbness.  

            "Of course not, sir," Tseng replied gently. "It's only an offer. And I only made it because I don't imagine he'd like the thought of you doing anything unsafe right now."

            Heidegger laughed, despite the situation. His usual gut-burst of a laugh sounded like a rumble in the back of his throat. "Nakahara, we haveta have a talk someday about this damned mothering of yours." He gave the Turk the most threatening expression he could muster. "If you treat the other Turks like this --"

             "I'll drop kick your ass outta here so fast your nuts'll move north permanently." They both said together. Tseng gave his commander a genuine smile. "I know, sir. And I assure you I have never confused myself with Reno, Rude or Elena's mother. But if it will make you feel better, you can still yell at me on the way to the hospital."

            For once, Heidegger didn't know if he could manage such a feat. So he merely grumbled something between an insult and a curse as he pulled himself from his chair. 

            Tseng took this in stride. "I'll go warm up the car. See you on Floor BB in ten minutes?"

            "You don't need to patronize me, Tseng. My friend's in the hospital. I haven't lost a leg or anything."

            Tseng nodded. "Yes sir. And again with all due respect, that's exactly why I'm worried." He saluted and left before Heidegger could protest again.

***

            Heidegger stared at the city moving past his reflection thankful for the inability to focus his eyes on any of it, including his own face. He knew very well the person he would see. Broad shouldered, heavy set his dark hair and bushy beard fading slowly to the grey of late middle age…and the scar. Heidegger touched his finger to it and absentmindedly traced the trail from his forehead to the center of his cheek as if it were the path of an unwanted tear. He welcomed the distraction, but nonetheless wondered why his thoughts had turned to this of all memories. He shook his head as Tseng passed him a handkerchief. "Don't need it," he said resolutely. "I was just thinking 's all." 

            "I see." Tseng turned back to his driving, leaving the handkerchief on Heidegger's lap regardless. 

The general frowned slightly and tucked it into his pocket. "Well?"

"Well, sir?"

"You're usually nosier than a hound dog, Nakahara. Don't you wanna know what I was thinking about?"

"It's not my place to ask that, sir." Tseng said as he turned a corner. "Nonetheless, I do admit to some curiosity."

"I ever tell you what I did during the war?"

Tseng chuckled lightly. "Many times, sir."

"About my scar, I mean."

"On occasion you have been known to talk about it."

"I got this scar from General Kisaragi himself," Heidegger smiled at the memory. From sadness, nostalgia or pride Tseng could not tell. "Heh. It's one thing to be a kid like you all full of piss and vinegar and some half-cocked need to prove yourself to someone. At forty-five it just looks stupid. Guess I shot myself in the foot in the end. Figuratively at least. Asshole just ran right up and cut me across the mug. Cut me and stood there yuckin' it up as I bled. You know what that did to a guy my age, Tseng?"

"I can't even begin to imagine," the Turk said with the patience and good humor of the truly entertained.

"Made me rethink a lot of shit, that's what," Heidegger grumbled as he turned back to the window. "Suddenly life got so real. Just like it always gets real when a soldier sees his own blood. You know what I'm saying."

"I think so, sir."

"Or maybe you don't. I dunno. How old are you again?"

"Thirty-one this October, sir."

"You got some time yet." Heidegger said neutrally. "Time before you wake up and realize…" Tseng retained a polite silence as Heidegger shook his head. "Well, I'm gonna tell you something now, kid. None of us lives forever, no matter how much we want to. Not you, not me, not anybody."

"Yes, sir." 

"Gyahaha! Don't 'yes sir' me, Tseng Nakahara! Sure maybe you understand that up here," Heidegger tapped his head. "But you don't get it down here yet." He tapped his chest and smiled grimly at Tseng. "And I hope to god it don't take what it took for me to get you to understand it in both places." He sighed and shook his head. "Tseng…I'm not makin' any sense now, am I?"

Tseng gently placed a hand on his superior's shoulder as they pulled into the nearest parking space. "It's alright, sir. I'm not offended in the slightest."

"Didn't ask you if you were offended," Heidegger growled as he unlocked his door. "I asked you if I made sense."

"Yes, sir. I think I understand."  Sometimes a little white lie never hurt anyone.

***

"Next of kin?" Heidegger just blinked at the question. The woman behind the desk frowned and shoved her spectacles back into place. "Are you his next of kin, sir?"

            "What the fuck does it matter what I am?" Heidegger snapped. For her part, the woman just looked incensed.

            "It matters, _sir_," she said carefully. "Because Mr. Matthew Palmer is currently residing in the intensive care unit. Hospital regulations only allow spouses and immediate family members to visit."

            "Well, he doesn't have any immediate family," Ah, yes. Heidegger could feel the anger boiling up now. "Truth is, I'm the closest thing to family he's got."

            "Then I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back later," the nurse turned back to her computer screen. Tseng must have known in advance what action his commander was about to take because his hand caught Heidegger's in mid swipe.

            "Sir, let me handle this for you," Tseng cleared his throat and stared at the nurse until she turned back to him.

            "Yes?" She sounded as if she had passed irritated quite some time ago.

            "I'm sorry, perhaps we weren't clear," Tseng said politely. "But he would like to see Mr. Matthew Palmer right now."

            "Mister, I'd also like to be five foot nine and a triple d cup, but that ain't gonna happen either."

            Tseng sighed. "Then I'm afraid you don't leave me much of a choice, ma'am. As a Turk I can't just let someone push General Heidegger around without making a promise."

            "G—general Heidegger?" The nurse gasped and peered tentatively at the general over her spectacles. 

            "Yes, ma'am. That is General Heidegger. And if you refuse to let him see his friend losing your job will be the least of your concerns." Tseng didn't even flinch as he pushed his jacket aside to give the woman an excellent view of the two mako guns strapped to his chest. "Now, be a dear and tell him what room Mr. Palmer currently occupies?"

            "Five-eighteen. Room five-eighteen. Take a left after the elevators and you're there. I'm so very sorry, General Heidegger!" The woman stammered as her hands shook. 

            "Yes, I'm sure you are. And to show the General how sorry you are, why don't you make sure his friend gets a decent breakfast tomorrow morning? And a decent lunch and dinner. For the rest of his stay."

            "Yes, sir! Of course, sir!"

            "Thank you," Tseng covered his guns politely and turned to Heidegger. "I'll be waiting in the lobby, sir. Just have me paged if you need anything."

            Heidegger was too thunderstruck to reply for a moment. "Listen," he snapped when he could find his words again. "Don't you *ever* forget who's in charge here, Nakahara! If I want to tell some snot-nosed little bitch to go to hell, then I'll damn well do it myself! Got it?"

            "Yes, General," Tseng replied straight faced. "And with all due respect, sir, I did not believe you were incapable of handling the situation. I only believed that you had forgotten your gun. And I didn't want you to hurt your hands."

            "Eh?" Sure enough, Heidegger checked and found his holster empty. "Gyahaha! Well, I'll be damned. Next time warn me before we leave work, Nakahara!"

            "Yes, sir. Please pardon my oversight. General Heidegger?" 

            Heidegger stopped and turned around. "What?"

            "Please give my best wishes to Mr. Palmer. Though I'm sure seeing you will do him a much better turn than even my best intentions would."

            Heidegger looked at Tseng thoughtfully for a few moments. "Tseng," he said at last. "Come here."

            "Sir?" The Turk asked as he approached. His eyes widened a little as Heidegger took his hand and shook it firmly, but otherwise his face remained impassively calm. 

            "Thank you, Tseng. Hell. I don't know what I'd do without you some days."

            Tseng shook his superior's hand firmly in response. "No thanks is needed, sir. It's always my pleasure to serve you."

            "Well, how'd ya like that?" Heidegger laughed. He slapped Tseng's shoulder affectionately. "Remind me to put you in for a raise at the end of the month, boy."

            "Sir, if I may speak freely, you really don't need to give me anything."

            "Gyahaha. Then at least come to Matt's birthday, would ya? As my guest?"

            "Sir," Tseng's eyes shimmered lightly as he spoke. "It would be a pleasure and an honor." He saluted and Heidegger responded in kind before lumbering away down the hall.

***

            Heidegger's hand paused momentarily on the doorknob to Palmer's room as he prepared himself for the worst. No matter what, he promised himself, he would remain calm at any cost. Even if it meant going home and demolishing half the apartment afterwards. But losing it upon seeing Palmer's condition would do neither of them any good, regardless of his feelings on the matter. So the general took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

            Palmer was sitting up in bed with his eyes glued to the television and a bowl of half-eaten raspberry jello in his lap. He didn't notice Heidegger's presence until the general coughed nervously. Then his face turned from the set and broke into a radiant smile. His left eye was bruised and swollen shut and his right arm suspended in thick plaster cast.

            "Klaus…" Palmer said softly. His lip quivered as he pronounced the name and Heidegger felt every ounce of his reserve melt into thin air. Seconds later, he found himself at his lover's side, embracing the older man protectively and as gently as his shaking arms would allow.

            "Klaus," Palmer shifted his weight to throw his uninjured arm over Heidegger's back. It was not an easy task and the television was turned off somewhere in the scuffle. Neither man noticed, however, as Heidegger buried his face against Palmer's shoulder. Both men remained there for quite some time. At last, Palmer shifted his weight. "Hey…Klaus? I don't want to be rude, but…my arm is beginning to hurt." He looked uncomfortably at the tractioned limb.

            "Oh," Heidegger pulled back immediately and straightened his shirt. "Sorry…didn't realize."

            "Why don't you get a chair and sit down?" Palmer gently prompted.

            "Sure." Seconds later, Heidegger was seated at his partner's side. The silence troubled him, though. And after several halted attempts at speech, he finally managed to say: "It's stupid. All the way over here, I only thought about the worst things possible. Like what I'd say to you if you were in a coma or something. Or what I'd do if…" His shoulders shook and he could not hide the fact. "God, Matt. You just don't know what it was like."

            "I know," Palmer soothed as he twined his fingers between Heidegger's own massive set. "I know exactly what you thought. That's why I asked them to call and tell you I was alright."

            "Alright?" Heidegger pronounced the word as if he'd never heard it before.

            Palmer laughed sadly. "Yeah. I told them to call you and say 'Hey, Mr. Palmer just wanted you to know he had a little accident, but he'll be fine. Oh, and can you pick up some milk on your way home tonight? We're all out.'" His brown eyes turned shamefully to study Heidegger's hand. "I guess you shouldn't tell people to do things when you're drugged up, huh?"

            "Drugged?" Heidegger felt the remaining color drain from his face as he clutched Palmer's hand. "What did they put you on, Matt? Tell me! I gotta know!"

            Once again, Palmer laughed. "It's nothing, Klaus. Really, it's a lot worse than it looks. They did a full examination when I came in, and the only things that turned up were a mild concussion and a broken arm. Oh, yeah," Palmer winced and raised his good hand to his face. "And bruises. Lots of bruises. Hehe. I feel like one giant bruise right n…" Palmer's words trailed off as Heidegger turned away from him. "Hey," he soothed as a wrenched sob escaped his lover's lips. "Hey, don't…it's okay. I'm fine, Klaus. Really. They only put me in intensive care because of my weight. Hehe. Can you imagine that? Put in the ICU because of the thing that probably made everything turn out a lot better than it would have. You know, they say all this fat protected me like some giant pillow. Guess it's not so bad being Fat Man Palmer sometimes, huh?"

            Heidegger rubbed a hand over his eyes fiercely, but it only seemed to make the problem worse. "Don't ever," he said as he pulled Palmer into another hug. "Don't you ever think of getting hurt like this again, you hear?"

            "Ahh," Palmer gasped. "Not so tight, please. The bruises…"

            Heidegger loosened his grip slightly, but did not pull back again. "'Cause I could stand it if it was me, you know? I've known since the day Kisaragi cut my face up that someday it'd be me."

            "What are you saying?" Palmer sounded truly frightened.

            "The day I got this scar, I knew…I KNEW that someday it'd happen. Someday I'd get knocked down in battle, or run over by a train or just have my insides wrinkle up and shut down on me like some old reactor. I knew it'd be me…but I didn't think about it being you."

            "Klaus," Palmer soothed. "Don't say such things, please. It's been such a long, terrible day for us both."

            "I thought I could beat it," Heidegger continued as if Palmer hadn't spoken. "Even at this age, I guess I still thought…you know. You win a war for Shinra, you get Shinra all this power by taking out a country like Wutai, you make a lot of money and you got more control over this entire city than maybe even Shinra himself has. And if you wanted, you could probably make just about anyone in the world do whatever the hell you wanted." He laughed darkly. "Funny, huh? That even with all that power, you can't see shit like this coming. And you can't do anything but get in the car and drive to the hospital hoping it's gonna turn out alright. And then you get there and you see…and it's suddenly like you were just being tested, you know? Like Death was waving his ass right in your face and saying 'I'll do whatever the fuck I want to you, and you just take it like a man. You got lucky this time, kid. Don't let it get to you.'" He looked at Palmer sadly through reddened eyes. "You know what I'm saying, Matt?"

            Palmer was silent for quite sometime. "You know what, though?" he said finally. "Death could have done something much worse, but we were lucky. We just got off with a warning this time." He sighed and smoothed a lock of Heidegger's hair back into place. "You're still here. I'm still here. We're both breathing and alive now, even if we could stop at any time."

            "I hate it," Heidegger growled as his hand clutched the bedrail tightly. "I fuckin' hate it, Matt. I hate it all. Being old…you know?"

            _Not being able to control anything after all, Palmer thought ruefully. He sighed and placed a gentle kiss on Heidegger's forehead. "Maybe you didn't notice, but they put me in an extra big bed. Probably because I'm an executive and all," Palmer glanced over at the empty space beside him and smiled at Heidegger. "If you're careful, you could probably almost fit in next to me."_

            Upon trying, Heidegger found Palmer's estimation rather ambitious. But as he nestled his head against Palmer's chest, he decided it didn't matter. He could live with his legs hanging out of the bed. God knew, he'd been in worse situations than this.

            "Feel better now?" Heidegger shivered happily as Palmer's thick fingers lovingly caressed his hair. 

            "Not really," the general admitted. Suddenly he felt very tired and very old, as if all the life had been drained from him and replaced with lead. "But hey, 'least you're here, right?"

            "We're here together," Palmer corrected. "And I want you to remember that."

            Heidegger kissed his lover's cheek and closed his eyes. "Think they'll try to throw me outta here when visiting hours are over?"

            "They can try. But I don't think they'll succeed. You did say you could get anyone in Midgar to do whatever you wanted, right? That has to be worth something."

            "Gyahaha! Now that's more like it!" The sun set slowly over the city and it began to rain. Heidegger closed his eyes and rested his head against his lover's chest. The rhythm two steady, even heartbeats soon lulled them both to sleep. 


End file.
